A Good-Bye

a memoir

He thought, upon leaving me standing in the weak mid-March sunlight with heavy decisions raining down around me, that me knees would fail me. Honestly, I thought the same thing. As I turned my back on a forsaken dream, I drew up every leaden limb of my suddenly lifeless body and wandered in the general direction of home. My body shook ever so slightly but clenching my left fist seemed to keep most of it under control. Had this really just happened? I released the tension that had been keeping my body rigid, expecting to fall apart limb by limb. I didn't. I stayed a solid mass, a human being. I relaxed every muscle I could independently control and still, my form remained.

 

I took notice to a dull ache remniscent of a loss and yet also at dry eyes, clear mind, steady composure. A feeling of deepness, of a strong, impenetrable sadness that surfaces at a relatives funeral was looming in the air around me, yet something else was hovering near by. A solid acceptance, a serene calm, even a breath of relief. Is that even possible? He had expected to break my heart that day. His face was lined deep with the burden of responsibility and I actually pitied him. How hard it is to tell someone what they dread to hear, even if its what you personally need. And then I found myself smiling. Poor thing, I kept thinking. He actually was terrified. The awkward stance and unsteady, broken eye contact.  The wringing of his hands and the shifting of his weight from one foot to another. He needn't even have bothered speaking. Explaining himself was entirely unnecessary.

 

My numbness was gone now that I was sure my body would continue to hold itself together. My steps were steady, my eyes completely focused in front of me. He thought I'd crawl back; I could feel him hovering in my hindsight. Lingering and praying that a scene wouldn't be made. That I wouldn't make things worse. I didnt have the slightest desire to so much as look behind me. "Thanks for everything" was all I had left to say to him, but I didn't say it. "I had more fun that I've had in awhile, but you're right. Something just isn't there anymore." But I didn't say it. My smile lingered as I walked onward, amused at the memory of his monologue. So planned, so stressed over. So, I hadn't noticed until this very bizaare moment of clarity, mutual.

Reviews

[Salvatore Buttaci]

You write with a facility that usually comes to older writers. That means you have a very huge advantage at your age to one day almost touch perfection in your writings. One suggestion: I would break that one block into stanzas (for poems) and paragraphs (for prose). It's easier on the reader's eyes.

Keep up the good work!

Sal

[bluessadmood]

thats a nice story ,very well thought written with great style,i liked the way you showed how steady you are ,feeling and strength never faltered,i dont know but i think he would love to have you make scene though you say the opposite ,cause i know men,this will satisfy their ego,which is very pathetic,i liked you when you showed lots of strength he never expected,but this showed you are not the side to blame ,though you never tell us who is wrong and who is right to break this relation and who is to blame it would be lovely if you added some details as why all this is happening so we have some insight as why and how all this came to be,you could build a lot on this since you have wonderful style of writing and the flow of ideas and emotions are really great,you have a nice job here ,and i liked it a lot...